Of Sea and Cloud

by Jon Keller

  The skull was eaten clean of flesh and had been turned beige by the salt. The jaw and teeth were loose but intact. Julius stood straight-legged and stared. Osmond on the scow turned and saw the skull as if the presence of such a thing could impact a man a hundred yards off and he ran the scow into the floathouse and stepped out and took the skull from Bill.

  Osmond’s hair fell over his cheeks. He held the skull at arm’s length and he whispered, Lord.

  Who the hell is it? Julius said. Unlucky sonofawhore.

  It’s my father, Bill said. He tried to straighten his body but he could not and he felt himself sink into the float as if the wood beneath his feet had suddenly rotted. He took his glasses off and he put them back on and he stepped to Osmond and took the skull from him and held it to his stomach like a woman embracing her pregnancy. He looked around the floathouse and the walls pressed against him. Julius sat on a crate and breathed slowly and didn’t say anything. He stared at the skull for a long time. When Bill finally noticed Julius’s gaze he wanted to hide the skull but he saw something in Julius’s eyes or the way Julius held his head slightly cocked that made him hold the skull up as if out of sympathy or childish camaraderie. All was quiet save for the swish and lap of the tidewater on the pound dam. One of the bottom canine teeth was gold and Bill pinched it between thumb and forefinger as if testing the root’s strength.

  Julius stared. His mouth fell open and his nostrils flared and his eyes held a light that Bill would have thought the boy incapable of. He couldn’t stop watching Julius as Julius watched the skull as if it were the only thing in this world that he cherished.

  That’s your father, Julius finally said and the words came slow and didn’t sound like Julius’s voice.

  Bill nodded and he felt Osmond behind him. Osmond took a step forward.

  How’d he get in here? Julius sounded like he’d lost something that truly mattered.

  Osmond brushed past Bill and took the skull and walked to the outer edge of the floathouse and flung it sidearm over the dam. It landed with a splash in the tidewater.

  Bill stood dumbfounded. His hands felt empty. He turned them palm-up to be sure the skull was gone from them.

  The Lord shall tend to such things, William.

  Bill blinked. The Lord?

  Yes. He shall cross to the other side.

  The other side?

  Bill noticed Julius standing beside him. It was a comforting presence.

  Osmond stepped back into the scow.

  Is the rest of him in there? Julius asked Osmond.

  Osmond’s face was pale and it took him a moment to speak. Horse and rider he has thrown into the sea. Now crate those bugs before they freeze.

  Osmond pulled the cord and started the outboard.

  Bill dropped to his knees with a crate beside him and began filling it. He worked slowly and methodically. He turned each lobster in his hands as if any one of them could be another part of his father. He concentrated on each breath. When that crate was full he slid another one over and looked at Julius. Julius was sucking on a hard candy and staring at his own palm.

  You working today? Bill said.

  Julius made a fist. That was your father? You sure?

  Bill pulled one glove off and lit a cigarette and clenched the lighter in his trembling hand. He drew on the cigarette hard enough to cave the filter. How many gold-toothed dead guys you know of?

  How’d he get in here?

  I got no clue.

  I thought he died offshore.

  Somewhere out there. Not in here, I know that much.

  • • •

  A few hours later the dirty white refrigerated truck backed up to the loading dock at the pound. The driver got out and tied his cheap leather work boots and straightened. He was short and stocky with curly blond hair and wide blue eyes. Osmond approached him and they shook hands.

  Osmond, he said and nodded.

  Osmond clenched the man’s hand. Daniel.

  Daniel opened the backdoor of the truck and slid the rows of empty crates out to Bill and Julius. They stacked them alongside the building.

  Osmond operated the winchhead as Julius hooked the lobster crates with two steel hooks. Bill stood on the loading dock and unhooked the crates as they rose dripping and spinning from the seawater. He dragged the crates into the cold metal truck and he and Daniel stacked them five high atop pallets. As he worked his father’s skull hung in his mind and like a gull circling a dead fish that it didn’t dare approach Bill couldn’t quite grasp that he’d held his father’s skull in his hands. Held it in his hands then watched Osmond throw it overboard. He wasn’t certain if what was going on around him was actually happening or not and uncertainty wasn’t something Bill was used to. The crates couldn’t rise fast enough and any time Bill spent waiting he spent hiding his shaking hands and clenching his thigh muscles to keep his knees taught.

  When they finally got the hundred crates loaded Daniel took out a book of checks and receipts and wrote a check out to Osmond. They stood next to the truck.

  Jason sends his regards, Daniel said.

  Osmond nodded.

  He was in Japan then Honolulu. He’ll be back tonight. He’s expecting you.

  Osmond looked up. That’s right.

  Good, said Daniel.

  Bill stood next to them and listened but all he could concentrate on was the skull and his own shakes.

  This is Nicolas’s son, Osmond explained then cast a look at Bill that said with the hard weight of stone, Keep your mouth shut.

  Yeah, said Daniel. I was sorry to hear of his death. He was a good man. Jason respected him.

  Thanks, Bill muttered.

  Daniel handed the check to Osmond. I’ll see you soon.

  Yes. Osmond folded the paper into his breast pocket.

  I’m off, said Daniel and he shook their hands and untied his boots and climbed into the truck and left.

  Bill looked around and felt the wind in his nostrils. It didn’t feel like any wind he’d ever known. He looked at Osmond and said, You going there for business?

  Osmond blinked his eyes once and the lids were thick folds that remained closed for a couple of seconds. When they opened he was looking at Bill. Yes, William, I am. I am going on my business and my business alone.

  If it’s pound business it’s my business too.

  A raft of pintails lifted off the harbor and looped out of sight.

  I’m getting a crow call, Bill said.

  Osmond opened the door to his truck. I wouldn’t if I was you, William.

  Why’s that?

  Killing crows is bad luck.

  Hell, said Bill. My old man killed them all his life.

  Osmond raised his eyebrows but Bill was back to thinking about the skull.

  Osmond sat in his truck with the door open. His face appeared to contort into an expression that it had never before known. He spoke slow. About your father, William. I wish that had not happened and I know it must be hard on you. How did he end up in here? In this pound? I do not understand.

  I got no clue, Bill said.

  Neither do I. Osmond took a moment to think. His face regained its composure and the vertical wrinkles once again stretched across the skin. Do not mention this to anyone. Not a soul, William. We don’t want anything going on around here. If the police find out they will drain this pound down to mud and kill every bug in here. We will lose everything. We will go out of business and this pound will be sold. We will lose our boats and our homes and everything, William. This pound will go bankrupt. We will go bankrupt. Let your father go the way the Lord intended. That is what he would like.

  We got to do something, Bill said but even as he said it he knew that Osmond was right. His father had spent sleepless nights pacing the kitchen and even puking into the sink with anxiety over the pound. Pounding lobsters was always a gamble and each and every poundman on the coast would take one hell of a beating before he removed any more than a cupful of water from his pound.

/>   Bill pictured his boat being driven out of the harbor with some other fisherman at the helm and he nodded consent to Osmond and Osmond nodded in return.

  Bill watched him drive away and he went back to the doorway and leaned against the doorframe. He pulled his glasses off and wiped at his eyes which were raw as if salt burned.

  Julius came up behind him and stood in the opposite side of the doorway. Neither said anything then Julius hacked and spat and said, Can’t believe we found a fucking skull in there.

  Bill turned his head slowly to Julius and looked the boy up and down then went back to looking at the driveway and the harbor mouth. A few gulls bobbed in the water and a crow rose from a spruce snag. It circled once then landed in the same tree.

  You moving somewhere? Bill said.

  I moved already.

  Where to?

  Up the east side. The old Smith house.

  Bill nodded. He felt like everything had gone strange on him and the only thing that connected him to what he understood was Julius Wesley. That made him feel even stranger. He didn’t want Julius to leave. His head throbbed. He wished he was on his boat.

  How’s the new boat?

  Like fucking thunder, Julius said.

  You got a new trap gang too?

  Who said that?

  Nobody.

  Then why you asking?

  I’m not, Bill said. He looked down and kicked at the ground with his rubber boot then walked to his truck and left. He drove slowly down the road and bashed his palm against the steering wheel and said, Fuck, Dad, but he didn’t know why he said it and he almost said, I can’t do it, but he didn’t know what exactly it was that he couldn’t do so he held the words crunched in his teeth like a piece of shell he planned to spit out.

  Charlotte didn’t come down for breakfast. Jonah and Virgil sat at the table without talking. Celeste made waffles. The classical music station played in the background. When the waffles were finished Celeste called up to Charlotte but didn’t get an answer. She looked at Virgil and Jonah and neither spoke.

  I’ll get her, Virgil said.

  Just leave her be, said Celeste. She’ll come down when she’s ready.

  I should go, Jonah said. She don’t want me around here and that’s fine. I shouldn’t be here anyhow.

  He stood up and pushed his chair in.

  You sit your highliner self back down, Virgil said. Celeste didn’t make all these waffles for the two of us. Hell, we’d be fine with coffee.

  Sit down, Jonah, Celeste said.

  This Julius business, said Virgil. This ain’t good.

  You cool your jets, she said.

  Virgil took a minute. He focused on Jonah. The price went up this morning. We got an extra quarter.

  A quarter?

  That’s right. Now we’re getting closer to half what it was last year.

  I wonder how they’ll do with them pounded lobsters.

  They’ll do fine on them. Jason Jackson’s a mean bastard but he pays for what he wants.

  Celeste put a plate of blueberry waffles and a glass pitcher of maple syrup and two sliced grapefruits on the table and she set out juice glasses and a carafe of orange juice. She forked thick slabs of bacon onto brown paper to drain and set it on the table and the smell of wood smoke and pepper and maple sugar filled the room.

  Virgil stood up and said, I’m getting Charlotte.

  Celeste and Jonah watched him hobble down the hallway and heard him slowly climb the stairs and heard his hard breathing and heard his feet make their way down the upstairs hallway.

  • • •

  Charlotte was dressed and sitting on her bed with a book. Virgil shut the door and sat on the bed next to her.

  You okay, honey?

  I’m fine.

  The sun was bright on the snow through the window. There was a faint breeze on the cove and waves of sea smoke rose from the water. A dozen black ducks worked the currents and three gulls stood perched atop a rock. Sheets of yellowed tide ice lined the shore.

  We have waffles ready downstairs.

  I’m not hungry.

  What’s going on?

  Nothing.

  Look, Virgil said. I know this is because you and Jonah had something, but now you’re impressed by Julius.

  Charlotte turned away. She examined her fingers. All you want is for me to marry a lobsterman like Jonah and get pregnant.

  We want you to be happy. But I want to talk about Julius and I’m not going to mess around. I don’t like him because he’s a bad human being. He scares me, Charlotte. He doesn’t care about anything and if you think he’s going to care for you then you’re wrong.

  How do you know so much about him? You just think you do.

  I pay attention. Why don’t you ask him why it is that little sister of his isn’t right in the head?

  I pay attention too, she said. And those are just rumors about his sister.

  Fine, Virgil said. I said what I had to say and you can do what you want, okay? Be careful with him. But now it’s breakfast time and Jonah’s down there and he’s family and in case you’ve forgotten his father just died. So get your ass down there.

  Virgil put his hand on the back of her head and pulled her head into his stomach. She dropped the book and wrapped her arms around his torso.

  I don’t think Jonah wants to see me right now.

  Why not?

  I yelled at him last night. And I’ve been mean to him but can’t help it. All of a sudden I just can’t help it.

  He’s the Downcoast Highliner, Charlotte. He’s a tough whoreson.

  No he’s not either. He’s sensitive.

  Either way, said Virgil. Come eat a waffle with him.

  • • •

  Bill drove down the long dirt road that followed the harbor line and parked on the end of the wharf. There wasn’t anybody around. He got out and lit a cigarette. He peered down through the timbers at the swirling waters. Seaweed hung from the pylons and a red bushel onion bag of periwinkles rotted on bottom.

  He sat on the wooden bench and leaned his forearms onto his thighs and let his head hang. He still felt the shape of his father’s skull in his hands. The grainy texture and the salt-polished teeth and the single shining gold tooth. The flesh and cartilage and the brains eaten clean by swarms of lobsters so thick a man’s hand wouldn’t fit on bottom. That was his father.

  The cold air carried the faint smell of bait. The wooden float below was slick with ice. The two trapdoors that opened to seawater storage for lobster crates were open and water swished and tossed in the empty compartments. Bill ran his hands over his head and felt the divots and roundings of his skull and wondered how similar it was to his father’s.

  He held his cigarette clenched in his teeth and puffed on it. The smoke rose out of his nose and burned his eyes. His boat and his brother’s boat and his father’s boat were all moored a hundred yards out. A boat made sense. A few weeks ago the whole world had made sense. He put bait in traps and put traps in the ocean and he caught lobsters and sold lobsters. That was it. Now he felt like his feet were tangled in a trap warp and the weight of the traps was slowly jerking him overboard. There was just no way in the world that his father’s skull could end up in the pound without someone having put it there.

  He gripped the cold bench with both hands as if to hold himself above water. He breathed slowly. He felt as if his brain had an itch. If he knew his father had been killed that would be one thing. If he knew who it was that killed his father that would be another thing and with both of those things together Bill would take his rifle and find the man and the man would be crow shit in under a week. But he didn’t know either one and all that not knowing was enough to make him question a life that had previously been unquestionable.

  After twenty minutes he got up and drove through the village to Virgil’s house. Virgil’s truck wasn’t there and Bill turned around to leave but Jonah opened the door and waved at him and waited on the porch as Bill parked and got out
. Bill tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry.

  Jonah? Bill said as if not believing that it was really him.

  What’n hell you doing? I seen Jason Jackson’s truck go by.

  We sold a load of bugs, Jonah.

  Good. Celeste’s got coffee on inside if you want some.

  Hold on, Jonah. I got something we need to discuss.

  You getting yourself a divorce?

  It’s about the old man, Jonah.

  What about him?

  Bill lit a cigarette and offered the pack to Jonah. We found him in the pound today, Jonah. Found his skull anyhow.

  Jonah worked a cigarette out of Bill’s pack. He held the cigarette loose in his fist and it took a moment for the fist to begin to tremble. You found his skull in the fucking pound? In the lobster pound?

  Yeah, we found his skull in the pound, Jonah.

  Jonah lit the cigarette. He watched the smoke ease out of his mouth. A shiver circled his torso and rose through his head and dissipated like vapor. He felt strangely calm as if entering some dream space and he was aware of this calmness and it worried him.

  Ain’t you gonna say something? Bill said.

  What am I gonna say?

  Bill blinked. I don’t know.

  Jonah thought of Virgil. It seemed that the last few weeks could not have happened. It seemed that his father must be out at his camp drinking beer and Charlotte must be inside writing a note that says, I’ll be over tonight and it seemed that he was not about to be in the middle of a trap war with Osmond Randolph and Julius Wesley. But what did seems mean anyway? Everything seemed this way or that way. He remembered tumbling off his boat so far offshore and he wanted that again. He wanted again for the sea to open up and drag him into the world.

  He blinked and said, How’d his boat end up offshore and him in the pound, Bill?

  Hell if I know.

  You tell Virgil?

  That’s why I’m here. To tell Virgil. Where’s he gone to?

  He’s uptown running errands, Jonah said.

  Bill blinked several times. He watched Jonah for a moment then said, Things ain’t right, Jonah. I can’t stop shaking.

  I know it. I know it. Let’s go on inside then.

  Things ain’t right, Bill repeated.